


Nargles Galore

by orangeemily



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeemily/pseuds/orangeemily
Summary: For the prompt: Mistletoe! First time! Lovett scampering and scoffing and being oblivious.Any era: DC, LA, AU(Fiction, please.)
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39
Collections: Crooked Secret Santa 2019





	Nargles Galore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fizzy_smile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzy_smile/gifts).

> This is the first fan fiction I'm posting since I was writing X-Men fan fiction on live journal kink memes in college. Please be gentle.
> 
> Keep it secret, keep it safe, etc.
> 
> This is an unbetaed mess, the timelines make no sense, just go with it! I appreciate your forbearance.

Lovett was over angst about religion, and didn’t appreciate the expectation that he feel any particular way about any particular holiday. He’d grown up as fascinated with Christmas as commercials had wanted him to be, then had the backlash (coincidentally around his bar mitzvah) when he realized that Christmas was Not For Him, then finally settled into a completely neutral acceptance of the behemoth of a holiday that took over the world for two months out of the year. He didn’t love it, it wasn’t for him, but there was lots of alcohol and seasonal candy and desserts and he got time away from school or work. Whatever.

But there were certain individual things about the “holiday season” that absolutely infuriated him, and mistletoe was a top contender. He could have pretended that it was about how it was a blatantly pagan belief for which no one even tried to manufacture a Christian rationale, he could have pretended it was his high-minded stance on consent--he could have even pretended that he was still harboring annoyance at the picture book from when he was a kid that had used a picture of holly in place of mistletoe and made him look like an idiot when he oohed and ahhed at Nick C. and Amelia in second grade standing under an apparently WHOLLY INNOCENT piece of festive greenery.

But no, as with most truly annoying things in his life, his annoyance with mistletoe was rooted in heteronormativity.

“...Like, it’s always supposed to be some perfectly matched couple bumping into each other under the mistletoe. Hugh Grant and Keira Knightley, or whatever. But simple math means that, 98% of the time, it’s people who are in relationships with other people, or related to each other, or wildly different ages, or have non-compatible sexualities. I used to be a math major, I could figure this out, it’s probably even higher—”

Spencer hummed, bemused, on the other end of the phone, the sound that meant that he was only half listening, probably reading something on his laptop or even doing his dishes. Usually Lovett would have been annoyed, but he had a pretty decent rant going and wasn’t going to need active participation in the conversation for a few more minutes.

“--And it would probably be fine, but no one ever accepts responsibility for the awkwardness of the situations that arise! I didn’t create the tradition, I didn’t put up mistletoe, I didn’t plan to run into you, and I’m not going to try to force you to kiss me like some kind of gay predator, but suddenly when I happen to try to walk through a door during the wrong month and someone else is trying to go the same way, I don’t just have to wait for them to get out of the way, I also have to reinforce some straight man’s heteronormative self-image and defuse an awkward situation of which I am completely not a cause?”

“That must be weird for you,” Spencer mumbled.

“Yeah,” Lovett continued, “It is weird, and no one ever—”

“No, I mean, it must be weird for you to be in an awkward situation and not be the cause of it.”

Jon’s vision whited out for a second in incredulity--the joke was pretty tame, but he knew how pleased he would have been to make it nonetheless, which made it much worse that Spencer had gotten it in. “I want you to know that I literally pulled my phone away from my face to stare at it,” he said when he felt ready to respond. “First of all, how dare you? Second of all—”

“This is honestly a first rate rant,” Spencer said, “and I am your friend and support you and genuinely enjoy talking with you, but I have a date in an hour. Is there an underlying incident here that you want to talk about, or do you want to eat up the next five minutes I can spare with ranting?”

Lovett deflated. This was the problem with friends who actually cared about your well-being and wanted to know what was going on with you beyond the funniest bits you could mine for a story. And the horrible truth of it was, no, nothing had happened--there was no issue, no incident. Favreau had barely even reacted. This time, although the context and the expectation and the weirdness might have been the fault of the hets and the goyim, it was Lovett who was solely responsible for his fixation.

“It’s nothing,” Lovett said. “Tell me about this date, is it the same guy from last week?”

***

Lovett was not a gay predator. You wouldn’t have thought that was something you could actively not be--you wouldn’t have thought that you could make not being something a central part of your identity--but you sure as shit learned to try when you were attending Syosset High and every pimply, musty guy at school had the inexplicable self-confidence to think that every gay guy wanted to fuck him. So. Jon Lovett was categorically not a gay predator.

But Jon Favreau made things difficult. Not that Lovett couldn’t restrain himself around him, hell no, he kept that shit under wraps. But he was pretty, and funny, and talened, and nice--in a genuine way, in a way that seemed like he would never act like he was doing you a favor by pretending you weren’t gay, but rather like the thought of minding never even occured to him. So Lovett would never in a million years have acted on the low-level attraction that existed, and he never would have fantasized about it, or let himself lose track of the reality. But it was impossible not to think about it.

The mistletoe was up for a grand total of three hours before some higher up decided that they had a sufficiently laid back work environment without appearing to actively encourage sexual harassment in the White House complex, but three hours had been plenty long enough for Lovett and Jon to bump into each other under the offending greenery.

In retrospect, it seemed like Jon hadn’t even noticed at first. Lovett would have tried to play it off that way, but his eyes had flicked immediately to the top of the doorway, and Jon’s had followed.

“Oh,” Jon had said, smiling. “Festive, if slightly office inappropriate.”

Lovett had taken a big step back, getting away from Jon and out of his way. “I guess some people like that kind of thing.”

Jon had walked through the door, then leaned against the wall on the other side, right next to Lovett. “I guess.” He’d shrugged, then proceeded to spend ten minutes talking to Lovett about messaging for one of the many upcoming healthcare speeches. By the time they were done, Lovett had forgotten where he’d been going in the first place, but he remembered that interaction, that conversation, and the easy, unconscious kindness that Favs had radiated--like he didn’t even have to try to be kind, like it didn’t cost him anything.

***

LA was amazing.

Well, no. It was terrible and plastic and no one thought Lovett was as funny as he did, which had usually been the case but had rarely had such dire implications for his career and financial future--at least at his previous job where he was supposed to be funny he’d somehow tricked his immediate supervisor into thinking he was hilarious.

But LA was terrible and plastic and unimpressed in a charming and consistent way, like the weather. When Christmas rolled around, the crass consumerism just had a slightly different tint, like how the weather more put on a different pair of glasses than really changed like it was supposed to. You could forget, in the unchanging environment, surrounded by effortlessly beautiful people, that time passed and the seasons changed and people died. You could believe that you might live forever, so who gave a shit about deadlines?

You could also be forgiven, Lovett would contend, for forgetting something you were told three months ago.

“I told you I was going to be here!” Favs yelled, trying to stay cheerful but radiating naked hurt that made fellow partygoers grimace and look away. “I told you that I was only able to get weird days off, so I was visiting Andy, then going back to D.C. for two days, then heading to my parents’ place.”

This was very probably true. Favs was always texting with the banal details of his life, as though they were still close friends who kept tabs on each other. Lovett would have felt bad about it, but Favs never seemed to mind that Lovett held back all but the most glamorous, enviable details about his life in LA.

“Well you could have reminded me,” Lovett said, his voice as low as he could make it without seeming pointedly hushed. “It’s good to see you, really! How are things?”

Favs tilted his head. “Things are good. Like I told you last week. I’ve been breaking in a new speechwriter. He’s good, but I still feel more comfortable having him do some of the fun, low stakes Christmas speeches as his first solo assignments.”

Lovett snorted. “You never gave me easy speeches starting out. It was right away, with the environment, and energy policy, and--”

“Well I knew you were good! I trusted you right away. Besides, you were the only one who understood that stuff.” He said it so plainly, like he didn’t even know what it would mean to Lovett. Lovett blushed and ducked his head.

“Listen, do you want a drink? It’s mostly shitty mixed drinks, like we’re in college, but I think there’s still some spiked mulled cider on the stove that’s going criminally under-appreciated.”

Favs laughed. “It’s like seventy degrees, I don’t really need hot alcohol.” But he was nodding, and Lovett went to get them appropriately festive drinks without another word.

The set up in the kitchen was more complicated than Lovett had appreciated--the cider was on the stove, but you had to add the rum yourself, because they didn’t want it cooking off, and you could add additional honey to taste, and then whole nutmeg and whole cinnamon sticks sat on tiny plates with tiny graters, waiting for you to garnish. By the time Lovett had finished putting together two reasonably festive cups, while being bumped back and forth in the tiny LA apartment’s galley kitchen, Jon had come looking for him.

They bumped into each other--almost literally--in the doorway. “Sorry it took so long,” Lovett said, and handed Favs a red solo cup of cider, feeling ridiculous.

“Thanks,” Favs said, taking a long, appreciative sip. “Delicious.”

“You almost can’t taste the BPAs from drinking a hot beverage from a plastic cup, right?”

Jon laughed, then glanced up. Lovett followed his gaze.

Mistletoe. Crowded parties were the worst, they’d convince you that it was somehow reasonable to have half a conversation in a doorway just because it was the only open space. Lovett went to step back and immediately bumped against the very firm shoulder of a very petite woman who didn’t move at all. He looked past Jon, into the main room of the party--

And didn’t even see Jon leaning in, tilting his head to the side, and placing a gentle, precise, and unmistakably intentional kiss right on his cheek. He felt the warmth on his skin, and smelled the cider and cloves on Jon’s breath as he pulled back. “Rules are rules,” he said, smiling.

Lovett wanted to fall over. You couldn’t just do that--no one could, but especially not tall, handsome, talented, kind, generous men with gap teeth. This was a party in West Hollywood, the kind that Andy Favreau got invited to, and there were at least eight men in attendance who were objectively better looking than Favs, were actually gay, and could maybe even be talked into hooking up with Lovett--or at least kissing him under the mistletoe like they meant it. And now Lovett wasn’t going to be able to think about any of them for the rest of the night.

“Yeah,” Lovett said. “But we’re kind of in the way, and I’d hate for your lips to get chapped. We should probably move elsewhere if we’re going to continue this conversation.”

Jon laughed in the gratifying way that people in LA just didn’t when you made a mediocre joke--everyone in LA was too desensitized by being constantly in the presence of comedians and writers. Lovett followed him out, onto the porch, where they stayed the rest of the night.

***

Working with Tommy and Jon again was amazing. Lovett had genuinely moved out to LA for a fresh start, and as much as he’d alternately hated and loved how that fresh start turned out, he’d always been glad that he’d set out on his own and learned what he could be like. He hadn’t been pining away for his life back in D.C.--but he couldn’t pretend to be completely surprised at how good it felt that parts of his life in D.C. had followed him.

The biggest surprise was how immediately everything fell back into place. Jon and Tommy had been friends since long before either of them had met Lovett, and they’d been close after Lovett had moved as well, even starting a company together--so Lovett had spent the months and days leading up to Favs’ move reminding himself that things would be awkward, he would be on the outside, and it was ridiculous of him to be upset about that.

But from the second he showed up at Favs’ house on moving day and assigned himself the task of organizing the closets and cabinets, things had been easy. Jon and Tommy had stories Lovett didn’t know, but they were eager to tell them to him, and they always had exactly the right reaction to any story Lovett shared. They had an amped up, slightly manufactured energy for the podcast, but it carried over in an authentic way to the moments when they were just hanging out. And they spent a lot of time just hanging out, even when they were theoretically supposed to be working.

Which was why it hurt so much when, a month and a half after Jon’s big move, while they were still working on Tommy to head out there permanently instead of just crashing on Lovett’s couch or Jon’s guest bad 80% of the time, Jon started acting deeply, inexplicably weird.

It wasn’t anything Lovett could describe, really. Or nothing he could describe and not sound insane or arrogant. But Jon was definitely acting weird--talking to Lovett less, but laughing louder at his jokes. Looking at him more often, but never holding eye contact. Blushing at gentle ribbing that never would have gotten a rise out of him before. It wasn’t anything that Lovett could yell at him to stop, just a general weirdness, a hesitation, that felt bizarrely out of place.

It came to a head the week before Christmas. They weren’t recording pods, so they had less reason to hang out than usual, but Lovett didn’t see Jon AT ALL. Tommy was already on the East coast, visiting family for the holidays and breaking the news that he was officially moving to LA for a job as a podcast host. Lovett had been forced to the sad realization that the social circle he’d built for himself in LA had atrophied considerably while he’d been constantly working with Tommy and Jon, and between that rude awakening and the aura of weirdness Jon had already been cultivating, he was fed up.

“Hey!” Jon said, looking pleasant but surprised--as though he had any right to be surprised at Lovett’s presence on his front step. They lived right across the street from each other and saw each other every day, or usually did, anyway.

“Hey,” Lovett said, in a completely different tone of voice. “What’s your deal?”

Jon blushed, then drew a frown down over the blush as if to mask it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Favs, I haven’t seen you in five days! We see each other constantly! And I live right across the street from you, I can tell that you’ve barely been leaving your house! Unless you’re visiting friends when you leave with your gym bag at six thirty in the morning, you’ve turned into a complete hermit, even though one of your best, completely non-judgmental friends, who is pretty much a hermit himself, lives right across the street. Why?”

Jon took a step back, then another. Lovett followed him into the vestibule of the house, waiting for a response. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately,” Jon said.

“Great, then let’s talk it over,” Lovett said. “Between the election and our burgeoning business, I’m sure we have a lot of the same things to think about.”

“Um, no,” Jon said, pointedly polite. “I mean, yes, but, I have… other things, too.”

“Like what?” Lovett said, and now he was advancing on Jon, forcing him further back into the house. “What’s so serious you can’t talk to me about it? I’m supposed to be one of your best friends.”

“You are!” Jon said. “And that’s why it’s so important--that’s why I don’t want--” he looked up, and at the same moment, Lovett realized his mistake. He’d walked Jon backward into his apartment until they were worked up, standing too close together, and right under a sprig of mistletoe.

“Really?” Lovett said, but the digression he’d already begun mentally composing was muffled by a very exasperated set of lips on his.

“There,” Jon said, “there, I did it. I ruined it. So now we can at least move on and you can tell me you don’t want this and we can start trying to get back to normal.”

“...What?”

“I’d been trying to convince myself that I could just suppress it, push it down and not let it ruin anything, but I don’t think--I don’t think that was ever going to be possible. And we’re too good of friends to let this really ruin things, right? So this is kind of a good thing? At least we can start getting back to nor--”

This time Lovett cut off Jon, finally understanding and wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck, pulling him the few inches down to kiss him again. This kiss was deep, overwhelming, and somehow still just a promise of more to come.

“So, just to be clear, you’ve been thinking about kissing me?” Lovett asked.

“Slightly preoccupied, yes,” Jon allowed.

“And now that you have, what’s the verdict? More kissing? More mistletoe?”

Jon let out a sound that was half-gulp, half-laugh, and somehow didn’t ruin the moment. “More something,” he said, and almost picked Lovett up as he pinned him against the door frame.

***

Two days later, Lovett came home from a meeting with a potential sponsor to find every door frame in his house piled with more mistletoe than he’d ever seen in his life. “Jon!” he called out, trying to sound stern even as he was already more than half aroused. “Get this goyish shit out of my house right now!”

Jon appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a henley and a pair of gym shorts. “I thought you’d like it,” he said, but he was wearing a pout that betrayed that this was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“You can put up as much of this stuff as you want at your house, but keep it out of here.”

Jon ran down the stairs and draped himself across Lovett’s shoulders. “So I guess I should remove the mistletoe in your bedroom,” he said, kissing Lovett’s neck. “And in the kitchen. And in the shower.”

“You did not put mistletoe in the shower,” Lovett said, pausing only once during the sentence to moan.

“Wanna find out?” Jon asked.


End file.
